


they say age is just a number (but it's really not)

by unholy_obsessions



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beta Derek Hale, Crying, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Getting Together, Good Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Good Peter Hale, M/M, McCall Pack, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Peter Hale Ships Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Protective Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing, That Derek is slightly traumatized by, The Hale Pack is Part of the McCall Pack, True Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Warning: Kate Argent, but I swear it has a happy ending, so many feeings, so much crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29599857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unholy_obsessions/pseuds/unholy_obsessions
Summary: “We can’t do this.”Stiles feels like he has been kicked in the stomach, repeatedly. “What?” He was so sure.“Stiles, you’re seventeen,” Derek says, although it sounds more like a whimper as if it physically pains Derek to say so. And maybe it does, but Stiles can’t focus on Derek’s pain when all he feels is his own pain and sudden irritation at the man who won’t look him in the eye.“So that’s what it is? My age?” Stiles asks and he doesn’t expect an answer. His voice is dripping with sarcasm and laced with venom. He doesn’t understand how something as small as a number could ever outweigh Derek’s feelings for him.“You’re seventeen,” Derek repeats as if that will make it make any more sense in Stiles’ head.“I’ll be eighteen in less than a month Derek.” The name is a slap to the face. He can’t remember the last time Stiles called him by his given name.He feels like he can’t breathe. Why is it this hard? How did he ever allow himself to care? Caring, Derek has learned, only leads to pain and hurt and the feeling of his lungs collapsing and his body fighting for just one more breath before he inevitably stops.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 175





	they say age is just a number (but it's really not)

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. It wasn’t supposed to end before it even began. 

Stiles was only planning on hanging out with Derek. He didn’t intend for anything else to happen. He is not even completely sure of how it did. 

All he knows is that one minute they were watching Captain America Civil War, discussing the different points of view from each side, the movie more background noise than anything else, and the next they were only a few inches apart. Stiles was gesticulating wildly trying to get his point across to the older werewolf, while the latter was looking at him with a fond smile and paying attention to every word to come out of his mouth. 

Now it wasn’t strange for Derek to look at him this way. Everyone knows that the wolf has a soft spot for Stiles, no matter how much he tries to deny it. Stiles should be used to this kind of look, but it takes him by surprise that day because a few minutes prior, Derek had been annoyed at him for almost hitting him in the face. 

Neither knows who made the first move but they somehow ended up with lips pressed together and bodies flush against each other. Stiles’ hands were thrown around Derek’s neck while Derek’s were tight around Stiles’ waist. 

Derek pulls away first, the first one to come back to reality. The first one to realize the gravity of what had just occurred. 

He stands up quickly and turns his back on the younger man, leaving Stiles confused. He did not misread the situation. He may be a pile of bottled-up anxiety but he’s not an idiot. He doesn’t have to be a werewolf to realize when his feelings are reciprocated. And he can say with absolute certainty that Derek feels _something_ for him, something more than a platonic pack bond. 

Derek is ultimately the one who breaks the silence that has fallen over the room, always the one to take charge of a situation. “We can’t do this.” 

Stiles feels like he has been kicked in the stomach, repeatedly. “What?” He was so sure. 

“Stiles, you’re seventeen,” Derek says, although it sounds more like a whimper as if it physically pains Derek to say so. And maybe it does, but Stiles can’t focus on Derek’s pain when all he feels is his own pain and sudden irritation at the man who won’t look him in the eye. 

“So that’s what it is? My age?” Stiles asks and he doesn’t expect an answer. His voice is dripping with sarcasm and laced with venom. He doesn’t understand how something as small as a number could ever outweigh Derek’s feelings for him. Unless… 

No, Stiles stops himself. He’s not wrong about his feelings. He can’t be. Being wrong about something as important as this will break him more than he already is. 

“You’re seventeen,” Derek repeats as if that will make it make any more sense in Stiles’ head.

“I’ll be eighteen in less than a month Derek.” The name is a slap to the face. He can’t remember the last time Stiles called him by his given name. 

He feels like he can’t breathe. Why is it this hard? How did he ever allow himself to care? Caring, Derek has learned, only leads to pain and hurt and the feeling of his lungs collapsing and his body fighting for just one more breath before he inevitably stops.

“You’re still so young,” Derek whispers but Stiles hears him loud and clear. 

“So what? I’m suddenly going to be more mature than I am now in three weeks?” He’s whining so he’s not really helping prove his point but all he wants is validation. He craves it. He’s still a teenager after all. He wants to know that his feelings are important, that _he_ is important. “I’ve been through much more than any person my age has gone through!” 

“That’s not the point, Stiles,” Derek spits the name out, finally turning around. He hopes that his anger masks the longing and suffering he is actually feeling. 

_Anger_

God it’s always that, isn’t it? The perfect mask to wear. If he’s angry then he doesn’t feel any other emotion. But Derek hasn’t been angry in a long time. And it’s all because of Stiles, who right now is looking at him like he is destroying his whole world, and in a way he is. 

“I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m not asking you to have sex with me. I’m not even asking you to date me. I just want you to admit that you feel the same way for me that I do for you.” Stiles is screaming now and his throat feels raw with emotion. He’s sure that there are tears threatening to spill down his face but he can’t find it in himself to care. 

Derek doesn’t want to answer. His stance is guarded, more guarded than it has ever been around Stiles. He looks up and it takes everything in him to not close the distance between them and hold Stiles close. His wolf is howling within him, begging him to give in to Stiles and comfort him, but he can’t, he won’t let himself become that person. 

“I’m sorry.” Derek whispers and that is all Stiles needs to hear for the tears to fall. 

He doesn’t say anything more, looking back, he’s not sure that he could have spoken even if he tried. He simply nods his head once and walks out the door, making sure to avoid coming within six feet of Derek as he does so. 

The door shuts loudly and echoes around the walls of the empty loft. The silence is deafening and Derek can’t stop himself from straining his ears and listening to the sound of Stiles’ shoes hitting against each step. The door of the building swings open and closes just as loudly as the one for his loft did. He listens to Stiles get in his jeep and start the car and continues to listen to him until he drives too far for even his werewolf hearing to pick up on. He pointedly ignores the sound of Stiles’ sniffles and the occasional sob that tears through his throat. 

But Derek can’t ignore his own sobs nor his own tears as they make their way steadily down his cheeks, tickling his skin and getting stuck in his beard that he forgot to shave that morning. He wipes them forcefully and doesn’t realize he’s lost control until his claws scratch his cheek, drawing blood before the wound closes quickly. 

He tries to tell himself that he did the right thing, but with how much it hurts, he can’t be sure he did. 

He walks to the bathroom and starts the shower, turning the valve as cold as it will go. He’s already barefoot so he simply steps under the spray, the water pelting hard against his back. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw, his gums aching with the need to drop his fangs. His claws are digging into the palms of his hands, dripping blood on the tile floor and turning the water swimming around his feet pink. His t-shirt clings uncomfortably to his body and Derek relishes in the feeling. 

He deserves this, he thinks. He deserves to feel like the building just came down on him because he made Stiles cry. He had only seen him cry twice before. 

Once, when the Darach took his father. 

And the next time, the first time Stiles came to him after the Nogitsune. 

He remembers Stiles showing up to his loft about a week or two after everything went down. Everyone had retreated into themselves, grieving in their own way over the events that had transpired. No one had thought to check in on how Stiles was doing, the one most affected by everything. Well that’s a lie, Derek thought of it all the time but he didn’t believe that Stiles would appreciate him sneaking in through his window. 

He regretted not following his instinct the second he slid open the door and found Stiles standing in the middle of the poorly furnished loft, looking lost and _alone_. Derek had sped forward and he swears he can still feel the way Stiles had clung to him and the tears that soaked his shirt. He had looked so broken, so abused by the world that he was thrown into. And Derek wanted to protect him, he yearned to wrap him up and leave him locked up somewhere where he would be free of harm.

And then he remembers how Stiles looked not fifteen minutes ago, so similar to the way he looked after his possession and Derek _hates_ himself for causing him any sort of pain. 

He slams his fist against the wall of his shower, the tile breaking under the force of the hit. He hits it again, and again, and again until the wall has been reduced to the concrete foundation. 

He flips the shower lever off and steps out, ripping off his wet clothes and toweling off. He ignores the fact that he more than likely smells like a sad, wet puppy and he can almost hear Erica’s teasing words. He cracks a smile before quickly stopping himself. 

He doesn’t deserve to be happy. Especially after what he has just done. 

. . .

Stiles drives aimlessly for an hour. He’s on autopilot, not really paying attention to his surroundings. He flips his turn signal without even thinking of where he’s going, simply following the path his body is guiding him through. He zones back into reality when he parks the jeep and realizes where he is. 

He’s in the middle of the woods, parked in front of the Hale house ruins. He’s been here before, dozens of times. The property is familiar and the crunch of fall leaves breaking under his feet as he steps out of his car gives him a strange sense of comfort. 

If he closes his eyes he can even see himself, fifteen and with a buzzcut in way over his head, dragging Scott around and trying to frame Derek for murder.

He almost smiles at the memory, thinking of how far he has come since then, but then he stops. He thought he and Derek had made some considerable progress, but clearly, he was wrong. And Stiles hates being wrong. 

He shakes his head to get rid of the thought. He’s trying not to think about Derek. But, now that he realizes it, it’s a pretty stupid ambition when he’s standing in front of his old family home. 

He picks at the skin around his fingernails, a habit he’s had since he was a child no matter how much his therapist tried to get him to stop. He hisses under his breath and looks down at his hands, seeing blood running from the edges of his nails and down his fingers. Looking at it used to make him dizzy to the point of fainting. Now he doesn’t think anything will ever affect him that way. 

He feels numb as if someone could run a knife through his stomach and he would feel nothing. The tears have stopped by now but he’s sure that if he even allows his mind to drift back to the loft they’ll start all over again. 

He wipes his hands on his jeans, ignoring the fact that they’re his favorite pair, and starts walking forward. He has only been inside the house a handful of times so he proceeds with caution, holding back a flinch when the rotting wood creaks from underneath him. He hesitates before pushing the door open, a sudden gust of dust throwing him into a coughing fit. 

Once he recovers himself he steps inside, turning to his left to what was once the living room. He remembers holding Scott back as Derek burned that horrid tattoo into his body and his arm pressed against his body as Derek stopped him from leaving. Stiles’ heart had stuttered in his chest, and he had hoped that Derek would assume it was his nervousness over his best friend getting third-degree burns and not the nervousness over having Derek’s skin touch his. 

Stiles walks up the stairs appreciating what used to be a beautiful home. Everyone in Beacon Hills knew the Hales. The family that lived in the middle of the woods in the mansion that children used to dare each other to approach. Stiles was never brave enough to go near it when he was young, especially when he had no connection to the Hales. One of the Hale children was his age, but they never interacted as Cora often preferred to stay in her own company. 

Now that Stiles has had the chance to know the remaining family members, he regrets never attempting to befriend Cora. He could see himself, running around the long winding hallways, playing with werewolves who he knows would have never harmed him. 

Despite never having gone upstairs, Stiles knows where he’s going, having had many late-night conversations with Derek where he talked about his life before the fire and by association, his childhood home. Those were the moments Stiles felt most bonded to Derek. When he could clearly see the trust in Derek’s eyes and the feeling of acceptance and understanding between both of them. It hurts to think about now, knowing that it was all some façade, a ploy to get Stiles to let his guard down. 

God, he’s such a fool. 

Stiles pushes open the door at the end of the hall. The wood is burned beyond repair but he can see traces of what used to be stickers that spelled out a name. The other doors are much the same but he only cares about this one. Stiles’ breath gets stuck in his throat once he allows his eyes to rake over the room. 

It’s beyond recognition, the only thing that looks even mildly usable being the bed sitting neatly in the center, the layer of dust on it not nearly as thick as the rest of the room. Still, there’s something in here that is so distinctly Derek that the tears come rushing back down Stiles’ face. 

He brings his hand to his mouth, biting hard to stop the loud sob that threatens to escape him. He sits down on the bed and tries to imagine a life where he and Derek could have been together, without the fear of imminent death hanging above them. Stiles doesn’t know whether he would have enjoyed the older man’s presence as much as he does now. There’s no way to measure how much of their perceived connection has to do with shared trauma. 

It’s not enough to have his heart broken apparently because Stiles now tortures himself with the infinite possibilities that come with what-ifs. 

Stiles sits there until it’s way past midnight and his phone doesn’t stop ringing with worried calls from his father. He doesn’t bother answering them, simply texts the sheriff back, saying he’s on his way home. He stays there for a few more seconds before making his way down the now-familiar hallway and taking the stairs two at a time, making sure to avoid tripping over his own two feet and breaking one of his precious bones. 

Slamming the door of his jeep shut, Stiles takes a deep breath. He checks himself in the rearview mirror, wincing when he sees his bloodshot eyes and puffy face staring back at him. He rubs his under eyes, then his temple, and starts the car. As he backs out he turns to look at the house one last time, before turning the steering wheel and making his way home 

. . . 

It’s Stiles’ eighteenth birthday party. 

Derek doesn’t come. 

Not that Stiles expected him to. They’ve been avoiding each other for weeks, the only time they’re seen in the same room being pack meetings. Even then, they stand on opposite sides of the room and when someone (normally Erica or Scott) suggests a pack night, they both come up with ridiculous excuses to miss them. 

The whole pack is worried, all of them having grown used to Derek and Stiles hardly being seen apart and finding every excuse to be near the other. It feels like whiplash, the sudden change of attitude. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac have all tried to approach Derek, trying to get a sense of whatever happened between the two stubborn idiots. They learn nothing from the former Alpha of course because even though he cares for the three betas deeply, he has no desire to spill his feelings out to them. 

Scott and Kira both tried to get Stiles to talk but every time they even attempt to broach the topic of his sour mood and sudden distance from Derek, he shuts down. Even Allison and Malia gave it a shot with no luck. 

They hoped to lift his spirits by throwing him a Lydia-level birthday party. The Stilinski backyard is packed with family and friends, all enjoying each other’s company. Even Stiles looks like he’s enjoying himself. 

Of course, Stiles has gotten pretty good at faking happiness. The werewolves can all smell it on him, the deep, pungent scent of sorrow, but they’re smart enough not to mention it. They’re all happy to play pretend and enjoy a night of normalcy in the midst of their chaos. 

The sheriff can also clearly see that the smile his son has been sporting all night, hell all month, is fake and he has a feeling it has everything to do with the missing werewolf. He’s not the biggest fan of who his son has chosen to love but he would never allow his son to remain unhappy. So he excuses himself from the table of adults and makes his way to his office, where he dials the number of the only person capable of knocking some sense into Derek Hale. 

Stiles watches his dad walk away from the party with deep curiosity. He decides to follow him, wanting to know what is so important that can’t wait until the party ends, but he is intercepted by Lydia. 

“No, uh uh. You are not escaping your party Stiles,” Lydia speaks up over the music, pushing a hand to his chest. And as Stiles looks down at her strong, determined eyes, he is reminded of why he once believed himself to be in love with her. Not only because of her indescribable beauty and intelligence but also because of her strength, a trait he has had the blessing to see even more over the past year. 

He doesn’t answer her, he doesn’t need to. He simply allows Lydia to drag him back to their circle of friends, who are telling embarrassing stories about their very own True Alpha Scott McCall, because in Isaac’s words “he needs to be brought down a peg.” 

Stiles looks around at the smiling faces of his friends, his family, his _pack,_ and he feels a sudden burst of regret. He has been pushing them away, letting his feelings cloud his judgment and in the process, he shut everybody out when instead he should have been letting them in. 

He decides at that moment that even though his heart is still breaking, even though all he wants is to curl up in his bed and cry over the loss of one of the most important people in his life, he’ll try to enjoy himself. Because he deserves to be happy and just hearing Erica’s loud laughter, seeing Boyd’s reluctant smile, and feeling Allison’s head turning into his shoulder to hide her laughter from her boyfriend, is already changing his mood for the better. 

“No wait, you guys are looking at all the wrong people. Need I remind you all that Scott has been my best friend since we were four, I have enough embarrassing stories to last all night,” Stiles announces, reaching forward to steal the bottle of beer from Liam’s hand and taking a swig. Liam whines loudly in protest causing the others to laugh. “Oh quiet puppy, you’re too young to drink.” 

Malia snorts loudly and leans closer to Kira, who opens her arms and allows her girlfriend to cuddle against her. 

And just like that, Stiles begins his first story, at one point in the night having to jump from his seat to avoid being tackled by Scott, who had already heard enough. 

Hours later, after everyone left with tears of laughter in their eyes, Stiles lays in bed and he thinks that the only thing that would have made this night better is to have had Derek by his side. 

He shakes the thought, not wanting to ruin a perfectly happy moment with his desperate dejection. He turns on his side and closes his eyes, the memories of family lulling him to sleep.

. . . 

Derek feels the absolute joy coming from the pack bonds and he can’t help but smile. He knows exactly what day it is, a certain reminder sitting in the back of his closet, wrapped in blue paper. 

He’s prepared to spend the night alone, wallowing in his own self-pity and wishing for something different. So it takes him by surprise when half a pint of ice cream and two episodes of Supernatural in there is an insistent knock on his door. He pauses his guilty pleasure show and begrudgingly makes his way to the door. Twisting his body to slide the door open he startles to find Peter standing on the other side. 

Peter smiles down at him and pushes past him into the loft, only pausing briefly to run his hand down the side of Derek’s neck, scent-marking him as a greeting. 

Derek follows his uncle once he has locked the door and resists the urge to pick the ice cream back up once he settles into the couch. 

“Talk to me nephew,” Peter breaks the silence, staring intently into the eyes of one of his only remaining family members. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, uncle,” Derek replies stubbornly and gives in to his desire to finish the ice cream like a stereotypical hormonal teenage girl. Once he has a spoonful of chocolate fudge brownie in his mouth, he looks back at Peter who is looking at him with fond amusement. 

“Well let’s start with the reason that you’re not with the pack, celebrating the Stilinski boy’s birthday,” Peter smiles in a way that tells Derek that he knows exactly why he’s sitting alone, eating ice cream, and watching Netflix. 

“Peter,” Derek starts but he’s stopped by a hand being raised and his uncle opening his mouth. 

“Don’t try to give me some bullshit excuse Derek. Need I remind you that I’m not an idiot and despite my mistakes, you’re still my family and I know you better than anyone. So please Derek, let me in.” Peter speaks in such an incredibly soft voice that Derek is taken back to the days before the fire, when he would go to his uncle for even the smallest inconvenience, seeking advice from the older man.

For a second he wants to be angry, wants to lash out at Peter for intruding on something that is none of his business, but he’s not angry, not at all and he does desperately want someone to talk to. And Derek doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what Peter had done in his quest for revenge, but there is no doubt that he has changed for the better, and the uncle he once knew, loved, and trusted is still there. So, with a deep sigh, he starts talking. 

“I’m in love with Stiles.” 

“Well, we all know that,” Peter teases. “Anyone with eyes can see that. Now what I don’t understand is why you’re sitting here, telling _me_ that instead of him.” Peter fixes Derek with a stare that has him squirming in his seat and shoving another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, hoping that by the time he swallows he’ll have enough hold over his feelings to know what to say. 

“He’s still so young,” Derek whispers, barely audible to the werewolf in front of him and Peter instantly knows why his nephew is acting the way he is. 

“You _aren’t_ her. You could never become her, Derek.” Peter pushes all the authority he can into his voice and reaches out to hold Derek’s arm, willing him to understand. 

Derek hangs his head and gives it the smallest of shakes. “But what if I can? God, I was fifteen, Peter. That’s how old Stiles was when I met him. What would that make of me if I even let myself do this?” Derek looks back up and Peter’s wolf howls in pain at seeing the unshed tears shining in his nephew’s eyes. 

“Listen to me. Kate,“ Derek flinches at the name but Peter continues. “Kate was psychotic. She manipulated and used you and never showed you the full picture of her intentions. She used your age, your innocence, to her advantage.” Peter pauses to make sure that Derek is paying attention to his next words. “Your intentions with Stiles are pure. You said it yourself, you’re in love with him. And that Derek is the reason you could never be like Kate. Because you love. You love strongly and deeply and once you decide that you care for someone you would never allow any harm to come their way.” 

Derek is looking at him with a mix of sadness and denial that sets Peter on edge, wondering if he will be able to get past his nephew’s reservations. 

“But-“ Derek starts to argue but Peter stops him shortly after he speaks the first word. 

“No buts Derek,” he says sternly. “Despite what you may believe, you deserve happiness. You deserve to have someone who loves you just as much as you love them and Stiles is that person. You deserve to open yourself up to your pack. Derek, you don’t deserve to live in guilt and sorrow for something that happened in the past. Let yourself have happiness.” 

As soon as Peter stops talking, Derek has his arms around him with tears streaming down his face. Peter is stunned and for a second forgets how to react before he gently brings his arms around his nephew’s waist, breathing in the scent of family. 

“Thank you,” Derek says, the words muffled by the fabric of Peter’s shirt. 

“You’re welcome.” 

. . .

The next day Derek makes a plan to talk to Stiles, to apologize profusely, and hope that Stiles finds a way to forgive him. 

Of course, because he’s still Derek Hale and he has the worst luck in the world, there’s an issue that requires the pack’s attention. 

A witch had set off the wards placed around Beacon Hills after the alpha pack that afternoon, which found them all crowded in the McCall living room trying to find the best way to approach the issue. Derek isn’t paying much attention as everyone yells out ideas, preferring to look at Stiles from the corner of his eye. 

He only tunes back in when the final plan of attack is ready and Scott gives them all their respective jobs. 

They head off the preserve, Derek walking beside Boyd as they patrol the perimeter, waiting for the signal that one of them has found the witch. The loud howl that is so distinctly Malia’s has them running toward their pack member, Derek running faster than anyone not only because Malia is his cousin, but also because Stiles was paired up with her. 

When he arrives to the scene he finds Malia on the ground, knocked out in front of a tree. His eyes search wildly for Stiles and he finally spots him, pressed against the trunk of a fallen tree with the witch closing in on him, muttering under her breath in what Derek assumes is preparation for a spell. With a deep growl, Derek runs and throws himself in front of Stiles right as the witch throws the spell, hitting Derek straight in the chest. 

Stiles yells when Derek’s body hits the ground and he looks up at the witch, eyes full of contempt. Thankfully before Stiles can do something stupid like throw himself on top of a powerful witch, the rest of the pack arrives, attacking and holding the witch back as Scott demands to know what her intentions are in Beacon Hills. 

Stiles tunes out the conversation and crawls over to Derek’s body, tears already spilling down his face. He thinks he’s mumbling something but not even he knows what he’s saying. He vaguely registers Scott’s howl and demand of the witch to exit his territory and if Stiles weren’t so distracted he would have been proud of his best friend stepping up and accepting his status as both a werewolf and a True Alpha. It takes only a second after the witch leaves, scared for her life, for the pack to surround Derek’s body alongside Stiles, with the exception of Kira who has gone to help a waking Malia stand up. 

Isaac clings to his former Alpha’s arm Erica and Boyd following suit. Scott appears behind Stiles, running a finger down the back of his neck, scent marking and calming him down in the process. Stiles doesn’t remember when Scott started doing that, when he became so in touch with his inner wolf, but he can’t bring himself to try and remember now and decides to put it in the “worry later” box. 

“We need to take him to the hospital,” Kira speaks, voice frantic and worried. Stiles shakes his head and is about to voice his thoughts but another voice beats him to it. 

“No, he was hit by a witch. The hospital won’t know what to do. We need to take him to Deaton.” Bless Lydia and her voice of reason that gives Stiles the sudden need to kiss her and praise her for her intelligence. 

His hands are shaking over Derek’s chest, right where the spell hit. They all eye him with sympathy but he can’t bring himself to care at the moment. Stiles just wants Derek to be okay. 

Isaac and Boyd carry Derek over to Stiles’ jeep and after they’re all settled and buckled in, Stiles breaks just about every rule of the road in order to get Derek help as soon as possible. He arrives at the clinic in record time, holding open the door as the two betas bring Derek inside. 

The rest of the pack arrives a few minutes later, once Derek has been settled on the examination table and Deaton is running some weird druid tests on him to try and figure out the effects of the spell. Stiles is pacing nervously, however, he doesn’t stray far from Derek’s side, as if it is physically painful for him to do so. 

“It’s nothing serious,” Deaton speaks up and a collective breath is released from every person in the room. Stiles stops his pacing, standing in front of Deaton on the other side of the table. “The spell was aimed for Stiles, and therefore crafted to cause harm to a human. Derek will most likely stay unconscious for the rest of the day but no lasting harm should come to him.”

Stiles feels like he could cry as his hand flies to his mouth and he starts biting at his fingertips to distracts himself. His other hand reaches for Derek’s and he laces their finger together. 

“I think he would do better with waking up in his own home rather than a clinic,” Deaton suggests and everyone seems to agree. Isaac and Boyd carry Derek back to Stiles’ jeep and they all make their way silently to Derek’s loft. Stiles’ fingers tap nervously against the steering wheel only stopping when Isaac reaches toward him and places his hand on top of his. Stiles takes his eyes off the road for a second to look at him gratefully, appreciating the feeling of pack that comes with the touch. He’s not a wolf and as a result he doesn’t feel the pack bonds nearly as strongly as the others but he does feel connected to them, in more than an “I love my friends” way. 

Again, they arrive to Derek’s building in record time and Stiles leads the way up to the loft. The pack decided that it was best not to bombard Derek as soon as he wakes up and is better if only one or two people stay with him before calling the rest of them in. 

Of course Stiles will not let anyone separate him from the wolf so it was decided that he will be the one to stay with Derek. Isaac and Boyd lay him down gently on the bed and Stiles thanks them before they leave. 

Stiles doesn’t leave Derek’s side. Even as the sun slowly sets and casts a warm glow over the room and as the moon rises, Stiles doesn’t move. He sits in a chair he pulled up next to Derek’s bed and holds his hand. At some point he starts talking to him, about how the last three weeks have sucked. How everyone has been worried about him and how his grades slipped slightly because he had no one to tell him to focus on his homework. He didn’t realize how much he already depended on Derek until he didn’t have him anymore.

“Please wake up Sourwolf. I miss you so much, it’s been hell ignoring you. I-“ Stiles chokes back a sob and continues, not noticing the body on the bed shift slightly. “I don’t care if you don’t have feelings for me because I need you in my life, even if it’s in the most platonic way. I can’t lose you, I can’t.” He gives into the tears and squeezes his eyes as they make their way down his face. 

“You’re not gonna lose me Sti,” Derek speaks and Stiles’ head snaps up, a surprised noise escaping his throat. Without thinking, he throws himself at Derek, wrapping the wolf in his arms and burying his head in his neck. Derek relishes the contact, having missed it so much the past weeks. He runs a hand through Stiles’ messy hair and breathes in the familiar and comforting scent. Stiles pulls back with a shy smile on his face as he wipes the tears from his eyes. 

“How are you?” He asks, knowing that he should call the pack but also wanting to selfishly have a few moments alone with Derek. 

“Good. Nothing feels wrong so I’m guessing there’s no damage.” Derek looks down at himself as he speaks, searching his body for any signs of injuries. 

“Good,” Stiles says, then hits him the shoulder. 

Derek gapes at him as his hand goes up to the hit spot. It didn’t hurt, Stiles is not capable of harming him, but it’s still shocking. “What the hell was that for?”

“That’s for jumping in front of a spell for me. You scared the crap out of me asshole!” Stiles is not actually mad that Derek jumped in front of him to save his life, he’s actually quite flattered, but he hasn’t had a good outlet for all the emotions he has felt, and now that the relief of Derek being alive has passed, it leaves a clear path for all other emotions to escape. 

“I’m sorry but-“ Derek cuts himself off before sitting up and looking pointedly at Stiles. “You know what? No. I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry that I took a spell for you. I’m sorry that I worried you, but I will _never_ hesitate to save your life, Stiles.” 

Stiles’ breath gets caught in his throat at the sheer intensity of Derek’s gaze. He swallows audibly and refuses to speak because he doesn’t know what to say. Derek, however, still has more he needs to get off his chest. 

“I’m also sorry for what I did three weeks ago. I-“ he stops himself and looks away, not knowing how to say what he needs to. Stiles reaches forward and places his hand on top of his, giving him an encouraging nod when Derek turns back. “You know about Kate, about everything she did to me and my family and I just couldn’t stop thinking that if I let myself feel anything for you then I was just as bad as her.” 

“Derek,” Stiles breathes out but the werewolf shakes his head, a sign that he’s not finished explaining. 

“I know I’m not like her, Peter already talked to me but it’s also so much more than that. You’re so good Stiles and so young and you have your whole life ahead of you and I can’t understand why you would choose to share your affections with someone so broken, someone like me.” Derek looks so vulnerable, putting his heart out on display and Stiles brings the hand wrapped with Derek’s up to his lips and presses a kiss to his wrist. 

“I love you, Derek Hale. I love all of you. You may think you’re broken beyond repair but my God Derek you are beautiful to me. Every time I’m with you I find something new to love and I want to keep finding them for the rest of my life.” Tears are running down both their faces and Stiles wipes Derek’s away with the tip of his thumb. “I’m broken too, everyone in the pack is a little broken, but that’s why we have each other. I don’t love you despite all of your flaws, I love you because of them. I love you because you grew from your mistakes. And I hope that you can love me because of mine,” Stiles whispers the last part, almost afraid of the answer he was going to get. He feels Derek’s nod against the hand that is still rested on his face. 

“I do Stiles. I do love you. I don’t think it’s possible for me to describe how much. You’ve brought me down from the edge more times than I can count. I can’t promise you that I’ll be ready for _everything_ right away, but I’m all in, Stiles if you are.” Derek swallows the lump in his throat and he feels the breath being knocked out at him at the blinding smile Stiles gives him. A smile grows on Derek’s own face when Stiles nods frantically. 

“Yes, Derek. Oh my God yes,” he barely even finishes saying the words before pressing his lips to Derek’s. The kiss has none of the intensity that it had the first time, but it has twice its passion. Stiles pulls away and presses a small peck to Derek’s nose causing him to get the most beautiful smile on his face. 

Yes, Stiles thinks, I can definitely get used to this. 

They’re cuddling in Derek’s bed when the rest of the pack arrives shortly after Stiles texted them. As soon as they lay eyes on them, there are several smirks, smiles, and exasperated whispers of ‘finally.’ Stiles even sees a couple of his friends exchanging money. 

“Wait wait wait,” Stiles speaks, sitting up and eliciting a displeased whine from Derek. “You bet on us?”

“Of course we did,” Malia shrugs, not seeing the issue. Stiles huffs in indignation before being tugged back down by Derek, which instantly makes him forget his annoyance. 

“God you two are disgusting,” Isaac groans, but the smile on his face tells them that he is clearly happy for them. 

“Oh shut up Is, maybe now that Derek is happy and in love, he won’t be mad that you’re secretly in a long-distance relationship with Cora,” Erica muses with a smirk on her face. 

Derek shoots up from the bed with a murderous glare, now Stiles being the one annoyed by the lack of contact. “What?” 

The rest of the pack laughs and throws themselves on top of Derek and Stiles in what can only be described as a puppy pile, making Derek momentarily forget his anger. For now, he enjoys the feeling of his mate and his pack pressed against him and he wonders when he ever got so lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated :))


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